


All in a Good Cause

by PepperF



Series: Pirating 101 [5]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-23
Updated: 2009-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Carter knew that Chief Pirate Jack O'Neill was glaring at her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All in a Good Cause

**Author's Note:**

> I started this for the TLAP Day 2008, but failed to get it done on time. There was just something about it that didn't work, and I had to put it aside. But today I was tidying up my files, and decided I now knew how to tie it up and get it into the 'finished' folder. I love that feeling.

It was a beautiful day, and the sun was shining down on Coquitlam Fire Department's Talk Like A Pirate fundraiser. It was going with a bang, thanks to the amazing organisational skills of a certain pair of recovering kidney op patients. Jack had suggested that Bray and T could tackle his paperwork, if they needed something to keep them busy, but they hadn't taken up the very generous offer. Instead, they'd arranged... this.

Everyone had some kind of role. Bray and T, with Shauna's assistance, had come up with dozens of pirate-themed activities. Reynolds and the guys on the downshift from Port Moody were due to compete with the home team in a tug o' war – and had made several unsuccessful attempts to bribe T onto their team for the day. The probies had all been given collecting buckets and badges that read 'Cabin Boy'. The kids were selling pirate names, and competing for best costume. Later, there was going to be a 'Crow's Nest Race' (fastest to the top and back down the practice tower, carrying a kid). Even the Chief had been roped in to help with a shooting competition - as the prize...

Sam Carter knew that Chief Pirate Jack O'Neill was glaring at her. She was ignoring him, but she knew he was there. His ability to look intimidating was impaired rather than improved, though, by the fact that he was wearing an eyepatch and a hook.

"You're smirking."

"Huh?" She dragged her attention back to T, who was, in fact, also smirking. "What?"

T looked more amused. "Are you gonna put him out of his misery?"

Oh, yes. Apparently she was smirking. "I don't know what you mean."

"C'mon, Sam. We all know who the best shot around here is. If you don't have a go at it soon, the prize will go to the current winner. And if the Chief has to kiss Jonas, he's gonna be a complete bastard for the next month."

Sam's smirk grew. She couldn't help it. "Oh, come on – you don't think it'd be funny?"

"Funny, yes," conceded T. "And don't get me wrong, my camera is at the ready. But it's just... look at him." T gestured behind him to where the Chief was still glaring in their direction. "It's kinda pathetic, okay? Like an angry kitten stuck in a tree." He gave that a brief moment of reflection. "And don't you dare tell the Chief I said that."

Sam grinned. "First chance I get," she promised. 

\---

For charity, they'd said. All in a good cause, they'd said. _We all know who won the inter-station marksmanship competition three years running_ , they hadn't needed to say. Sam Carter was undoubtedly the best shot here, and she could never resist a challenge.

Jack had the depressing feeling that he'd been scammed. 

He switched his glare from Sam, who was ignoring him, to Kawalsky, who raised a glass, openly laughing at him. Kawalsky, who had paid his dollar for a shot at the target, and missed by miles. Kawalsky, who had then hung around the shooting booth, challenging ("It's too tough – you'll never do it!"), reassuring ("The sights are crooked – you're guaranteed not to hit a thing!"), and cajoling ("It's for charity!") every single firefighter on Jack's team to try their luck, a dollar a shot. Every firefighter but one. Every firefighter but the one Jack had been counting on to hit the bullseye and win a kiss on the lips from the Chief. The nearest to bullseye so far had been Jonas. He'd looked distinctly daunted by his 'luck'.

Damn Jonas. And damn Kawalsky. If one more person told Jack that it was for a good cause, Jack was not gonna be held responsible. Good cause though it might be, the new hospital wing hadn't been on Jack's mind when he'd signed up for this fundraising schtick. No. He'd been thinking about how to get something started with Sam Carter without having to actually speak to her.

Really, now that it was becoming painfully obvious what she'd have said, he ought to be relieved. At least this way he retained some dignity - or he would, if someone, ideally Feretti's pretty sister, would just turn out to be an expert marksman. Somehow he didn't feel relieved, though. He felt like weeks (or, if he was honest, months) of flirting, sparks, growing attraction, anticipation, and the occasional moment of heart-pounding, pupil-dilating, brain-blanking friction, had all built up and built up, only to abruptly... fizzle out.

"Hey, Chief!"

Oh, of all the... Jack glared at Jonas, who was seemingly unconcerned about their upcoming embarrassment. "Jonas," he said, quellingly. But his visible annoyance was like water off a duck's back.

"Ah, come on, Chief – it's funny, don't you think?" Jack just rolled his eyes. Jonas grinned. "It'll be the first time I've been kissed by a guy." He rattled his collecting bucket full of coins and notes at Jack. "Cheer up, Chief. It's all in a good cause."

\---

Sam was explaining some of the finer points of the day to Dr Daniel Jackson. "Well, I think it's related to the Cornish accent – a lot of smugglers were from the south of England, and that became the clichéd idea of what a pirate should sound like." At his smile, she shrugged. "Mad about pirates when I was a teenager."

"Mm-hm."

"Hey, you asked."

"Well, you know – making conversation. I didn't know you were the resident historical…" he waved an arm vaguely, "…stuff expert."

"Far from expert," said Sam. "I just have an interest. What we can learn from the past, the patterns that emerge – doesn't that interest you, as a psychologist?"

Dr Jackson shrugged. "Well, not really. I mean, yes, I suppose history has some bearing on my work, but I'm more concerned with the immediate influences on a person's life – their personal history, what's currently going on in their life, the things that haven't actually happened but they're worrying about anyway."

"Huh." She looked thoughtfully at him. 

"What?"

"Nothing." He continued to look enquiringly at her. "Well, I mean - I just somehow expected you to—"

"Sam! _Sam_!"

Sam looked around to find the voice urgently whispering her name. From around the corner of the fire truck, Jonas was desperately beckoning. She exchanged a glance with Dr Jackson, and then both of them strolled casually over, leaning against the truck to conceal the man hiding there.

"Jonas. What's up?"

"Sam, you have to help me." Jonas's eyes were wide. "Please, you have to win that shooting contest, or I think the Chief might fire me."

Sam chuckled. "Oh, you'll be fine, probie. His bark is worse than his bite." 

Jonas looked unconvinced. 

"You just have to stand up to him, or he'll never respect you," suggested Dr Jackson, helpfully. 

"I tried that," asserted Jonas. "I swear, he's gonna get me reassigned if—"

Sam threw up her hands. "Okay! Okay. If you're really that worried—"

"Oh, _thank you_ , Sam!"

Sam shook her head and looked down. "I swear, looking after you guys..." She left the thought unfinished, and strolled off, heading obliquely towards the shooting booth. Dr Jackson narrowed his eyes at Jonas, as the man straightened and dimpled in the direction of the departing captain.

"Smooth," observed Dr Jackson. Jonas turned to grin at him.

"Hey, it's all in a good cause." Jonas paused, and then added, unashamedly, "I have money riding on this."

\---

From where he stood, arms crossed, leaning against the rail of the makeshift range they'd set up, Jack could see Shauna, chatting to Section Chief George Hammond. Ominously, she was setting up a microphone on a small platform. Jack's stint as 'prize' was due to come to an end soon, after which he'd be expected to kiss the winner – still Jonas, dammit – and then would be free to make his escape.

"Well, this looks like a challenge."

Jack turned his head sharply, and then turned it more so he could actually see past the eyepatch. "Sam," he said, a little blankly. "Er... hi." 

"Chief," she nodded, eyeing up the target. "So, Kawalsky says this is tougher than it looks."

"Kawalsky..." Jack shook himself mentally, and tipped up the eyepatch, feeling the need for full vision. "Yeah. Well, you know, all the guys have had a go."

Sam gave him a sideways glance, full of amusement. "So I hear." She picked up the gun, and ran her hands over it with far more professional interest than a BB gun had ever warranted before. She ran one hand smoothly down the barrel, and wrapped the stock in a firm grip. Jack's mouth went dry.

"You—" He cleared his throat. "You think you can beat Jonas, then?" Sam's look, this time, was less amused. "He's a good shot," said Jack, challengingly. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Is he now." Sam threw a dollar in the collecting bucket, and lifted the gun to her shoulder, sighting down the barrel and holding perfectly still. "We'll see about that," she muttered, and pulled the trigger.

Jack's head snapped around to the target. Beside him, Sam lowered the gun.

"Oops," she said.

Jack turned back to stare at her in disbelief. "You missed!" he said. Oops. That had sounded kind of accusative.

Sam shrugged. "I guess Kawalsky was right," she said. "The sights are crooked." She set the gun down and turned to walk away. Jack knew they had an attentive audience, but he just couldn't stop the look of hurt betrayal that he was sure he must be wearing. Sam took one step – and then turned to look back.

"Oh, what the hell," she said, with deliberate carelessness. "It's for a good cause, right?"

She threw another dollar in the bucket, picked up the gun, held it loosely to her shoulder and took a shot. It was rapid, fluid, and Jack wasn't convinced she'd even aimed. Until he turned to look at the target again. A small tear in the paper marker where the BB pellet had torn through the paper at the centre of the target. 

Bullseye.

Jack stared at Sam. Sam set the gun down and stared back at Jack. Then her eyes dropped to his lips, and she licked her own. He felt strangely lightheaded, all of a sudden.

An amplified tapping sound drew everyone's attention to George, Shauna, and the microphone platform.

"Hi. Hello there. Hi everyone, and thank you for coming to Coquitlam Fire Department's first annual Talk Like A Pirate fundraiser day—"

" _Annual_?" muttered Jack. But his heart wasn't in it. He was too busy trying not to grin like an idiot.

"—raised nearly five hundred dollars so far!" There was applause, and some woohoo!-ing. "Now, there's still plenty more to come this afternoon, but I have a few announcements to make. First off, the Best Costume award goes to Cassandra Frasier – Cassie, c'mon up here! Give her a round of applause!" A blushing, black-clad Dread Pirate Cassie came forward and was awarded a giant stuffed rabbit and a hug by Shauna. "Captain Cassie Frasier, the Blackhearted Bane of the Bahamas," said George, beginning to enjoy himself. Cassie buried her face in the rabbit's fur in delighted embarrassment, as she slipped through the crowd towards her mother. "I'd also like to congratulate Jonas Quinn for the most money raised so far using only a bucket and his personal charm—"

"Ah, crap."

Jack glanced at Sam, who was looking dismayed. "Hoping you'd win?" he asked, lightly.

"No." She looked reprovingly at him. "Chief. It's a _public_ prize-giving. I was hoping – I mean, it isn't quite how I'd imagined we'd..." She stopped the sentence, but he filled in the rest. The goofy grin really wasn't his fault, but she frowned at him, anyhow. "Jack, you ass," she said, sounding remarkably like his ex-wife. " _In front of everyone._ "

"Oh. Crap."

"My point exactly."

\---

"—And I think we have a final winner of the shooting competition," announced George Hammond. "If you'd like to join me in congratulating Captain Carter for what I'm sure must've been an impressive display of marksmanship...?" George began clapping, and the crowd joined in.

After a while, the clapping tailed off again. 

George twinkled at the crowd, and shrugged. "Sorry, folks. It looks like Captain Carter may have already claimed her prize."

\---

In the stationhouse, in Jack's office, sat in the splintery wooden chair that he usually offered to unlucky visitors (and which he'd just now set against the firmly-closed door), the good ship O'Neill was flying the white flag of surrender. 

Sam leaned precariously against him, balanced by the helix of his arms around her hips and ribs. She'd started off with teasing, tantalizing brushes against his lips - making him simultaneously want to pull her down hard, and to lie back and let her have her way with him - but had quickly devolved into passionate kisses and feverishly roving hands, with no hint that the moral tone was likely to improve any time soon. 

She slid down, slowly and deliberately, into his lap, and hitched herself a little closer. And that noise he'd just made was not a whimper.

With any luck, he was about to be boarded.

\---

THE END.


End file.
